


Dark Water

by VikingWitchling



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Mythology - Freeform, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikingWitchling/pseuds/VikingWitchling
Summary: A new and dangerous creature has appeared in New Orleans and the witches are not sure whether they should save him or kill him.||Sequel to Something Wicked.||
Comments: 5
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

It's not a pleasant feeling to be followed. You can sense it on the back of your neck, a prickling awareness that someone is watching you. And when in New Orleans the experience brings with it its own kind of weariness. Because to be the centre of someone's attention here is never good. Not for me. Not for a Mikaelson. When people approach you, trying to catch you off guard, it is not to offer you sweets or mild-mannered words. Death is usually what is on their minds.

And so on this particular day when I sensed a presence stalking behind me through the streets as I made my way home from the farmer's market, carrying a wicker basket of vegetables and herbs like I was freakin' Little Red Riding Hood, that weariness settled over me again. I didn't want any trouble. Didn't want to enter into another conflict brought on by my family's past (or present – who knew what my siblings had been up to lately) sins. But what choice was there, really? In my experience, potential assailants rarely backed away because I told them I was not in the mood. They didn't give a fuck.

I looked at my feet as I walked, keeping my pace leisurely but with a determined goal in mind, knowingly leading myself and my tail into an abandoned parking lot behind an apartment complex. I came to a halt in the centre of the paved square and gently set my basket down before I turned around to face my stalker.

It was a woman. She was, perhaps, in her mid-forties, with dark skin and beautifully braided hair, various colourful talismans hanging around her neck, giving her a distinctly bohemian appearance. I recognized her as someone I had seen before. But I did not know her name. Behind her were two young men. For some reason I imagined them to be her sons, but of that, I could not be certain. What I did know, however, was that they were all witches. New Orleans witches.

I didn't speak. I just watched them, apprehensive and curious at the same time. For a long while, the woman did nothing either. Then she finally took a step forward.

"Miss Mikaelson." It was a greeting. One I was not used to receiving from fellow witches in this town. The formal use of my name was too respectful. And I had lost their respect a long time ago when I sided with my siblings. It was unnatural for a witch to assist and protect vampires. It went against mother nature herself. So I was surprised by the almost gentle tone in the woman's voice, though I could still see she also carried her share of apprehension.

I nodded. She continued.

"My name is Mahalia Ward. I am the leader of the Garden District Coven," she said with an air of pride.

I nodded again in acknowledgement of her words. "Miss Ward."

"Mrs," she corrected me and then seemed almost embarrassed about having done so as if that detail shouldn't have mattered. "I apologize for ambushin' you like this but I needed to talk to you. And I couldn't exactly march into the hybrid's compound."

No, that would be a poor decision, indeed, depending on what mood my younger brother was in that day. Safest to stay away for all those not sharing his blood. "What can I do for you?"

She was hesitant to talk and I could tell whatever she was about to say, or ask, went against her better judgment. Might even grate on her pride a little. "There's a man," she began, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. "He's sick. We think he's sick."

I waited but when she didn't continue, spoke. "I'm sorry to hear that. Have you taken him to the hospital?"

Mahalia shook her head no. "He's not one of ours. He's not...We don't think he's entirely human."

That piqued my interest. 'Not entirely human'. What did that mean exactly? "Explain?"

She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face and now she'd slightly lowered her guard I could see signs of exhaustion. Bags under her eyes as though she hadn't slept for a while.

"My husband found him out in the Bayou two days ago while lookin' for Bald Cypress bark, lyin' face down in the water. He thought he was dead but when he managed to pull him on land, noticed he was still breathin'. He brought him home and we tried to help him recover. He still hasn't woken, but his pulse is strong. We don't know what's wrong with him, exactly, and none of the other covens we know have been able to help either."

"What makes you think he's not human?" I asked, eyeing the woman curiously.

She shared a quick look with one of the boys behind her and sighed again, lifting her shoulders in a helpless shrug as if she couldn't quite find the right words. "You'll just have to see for yourself."

I smiled a little. "And what do you think I can do to help this man? I'm no doctor."

"You're a healer," Mahalia said firmly like she was telling me to cut the bullshit. "And a damned good one. We all know it. We've heard the stories."

My gaze briefly fell to my shoes again. She was right; I was a healer. But most of my expertise came from mending broken bones and torn skin, ruptured organs and visible contusions. It was never easy, but it was simpler. Because in those scenarios the damage that needed to be fixed was quite self-explanatory. Diseases...I was more iffy about those.

Mahalia noticed my hesitation.

"Look," she said, taking another step closer to me, "We're not expectin' miracles. Maybe you can't do anythin'. Maybe it'll be a complete waste of your time. But maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to do _somethin'_. Which is a whole lot more than any of us have been able to." She inhaled deeply and fixed me with a look I could interpret no other way than maternal insistence. "It wasn't easy for me to do this. To go ask a Mikaelson for help considerin' everythin' that's happened. But a man's life is at stake. And I believe that is bigger than you and I. More important. Will you come? Please?"

I had already made up my mind before she fell silent, and that final 'please' cemented my decision. I nodded.

Mahalia and her boys looked relieved but still kept their guard up as I followed them to a beaten-down old car parked a few streets away. I spent the drive in silence, trying not to smile too widely as I listened to Mahalia chastise one of the boys (definitely her son) about the state of his vehicle and how he'd never get a girlfriend if he didn't clean out the old takeaway containers from the backseat. It seemed like such a normal mother-child moment, something I hadn't ever been privy to before, that I almost felt like I was intruding.

Twenty minutes later we parked outside a green house in the Garden District. It wasn't one of those huge mansions I had seen on occasion, smaller than that and without any real garden. But it was beautiful and charming, nonetheless, and I was immediately drawn to the warm and welcoming energy it exuded. Mahalia led me inside and took my basket, placing it on a table in the hallway before she guided me up the stairs to a small, dark bedroom with a single bed and a dresser. Nothing else. Oh, except for about a dozen vigilant witches mournfully watching the young man currently occupying the bed. Most of them scowled with displeasure as they saw me. I tried to ignore it and to my relief, Mahalia ushered them all outside before long, giving me the space to work. She remained. Hovering over my shoulder like the protective mother she undoubtedly was.

I approached the bed and the man who lay there, his eyes closed, white hair pushed back from his face.

"He was nude when Anthony found him," Mahalia said in a soft, low voice. "We gave him one of my sons' shorts to cover his modesty." They had also draped him with a quilt that looked like a family heirloom, from torso to his ankles, too short for the entire length of his body.

His face, slack and still at the moment, was smooth, free of hair except for his lashes and brows which were quite honestly enviable. He was pale, deathly pale, skin so translucent I could glean the veins beneath his skin, spreading through his body like beautiful blue lightning strikes. I gently traced my fingertips along his arm and found the texture of his skin to be like old parchment, delicate and fragile, threatening to peel away in places. I took his hand in mine and spotted webbing between his fingers, and when I set my gaze on his feet noticed the same remarkability there.

I understood then what Mahalia had meant about 'not entirely human'. It wasn't something you might notice at first glance, but other than those few oddities of his skin, he felt...otherworldly.  
Beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

I released his hand and leaned over the unconscious man to examine him closer, my thumb gently brushing against his plump lower lip to peer at his teeth. They were sharp like needles and pushed tightly together, almost what I imagined a shark's mouth to look like.

I barely contained a shriek when the man's arm suddenly shot out and his long fingers locked around my wrist. His eyelids lifting to reveal the inky black darkness beneath. He stared up at me with an intensity I couldn't decipher, be it fear, anger, or hatred. All I knew was that I couldn't look away, even as his grasp on my wrist was burning, literally searing as though his fingers were made of fire.

I faintly noticed Mahalia attempting to pry him off of me with little to no success, and that she eventually turned to call something over her shoulder. But I didn't hear her words. My head had filled with eerie, sorrow-filled music that threatened to drown me in its sinister beauty. Before my mind's eye, I saw a dark lake under the setting summer sun, children playing nearby, picking flowers and ripe berries...And in that lake, something glowed just beneath the surface. Watchful eyes. Seeking. Hunting. Waiting.

I gasped when the image was abruptly torn away and the man's hand with it. The room had filled with some of the witches from earlier and a few of the men had managed to wrestle the pale stranger's arm back on the bed. He looked tired. As though the past few seconds had used all of his strength and before long he passed out again.

"Are you alright?" Mahalia asked frantically, examining my wrist which still held the mark of his fingers, my skin blackening and blistering. I barely noticed the pain, too absorbed with the wonder and the turn this seemingly dull day had taken.

"I'm fine," I reassured her, smiling. "And I think I know exactly what we are dealing with."


	2. Chapter 2

There is a man who lives in the deepest darkest waters. You might call him fae, or demon, or wight, but we call him _vette_. Creature. He can be invisible if he should so wish, or he can change his shape to hide. Camoflague. A stick. A rock. Sometimes he appears in the form of a beautiful stallion. He spends his time in the water, calling, coaxing, tempting, and those who get too close he will pull in with him and steal away to the bottom of the lake, never to be heard of again. His name is N...

He sees things, knows things before they come to be. And when he senses a storm approaches, or that someone nearby is about to die, he screams. A terrible shriek that rips through your body like claws. His name is N...

Parents would tell their children about this man. Would scare them so thoroughly they would stay far away from the water's edge lest they would be pulled in and drowned. This is how he came to be. He was conceived as a story. An idea. And he was birthed by the children who believed in him. Their fear of him nourished him for centuries. And it is not so strange that when some of these children were forced to move from their home in the North to the New World across the ocean, that they brought him with them. They still believed in N...

Until time changed and the world with it. Playtime in the forests became modern city living. And in the maze of skyscrapers and brick houses his stories were no longer told. There was no point.

And so like the forgotten gods and creatures that came before him, he became weak. His only nourishment now was the odd victim accidentally straying too near his home in the water. Though no one will believe in him in the light of day, when he has his claws in you, when he is dragging you beneath the surface and down into the darkness, you DO believe. But it is brief. It ends too soon. And he is dying. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly.

His name is N...


	3. Chapter 3

We'd moved him from Mahalia's house to Dahlia's old cottage out in the bayou. I had insisted and Mahalia had not fought me on it. Not after I told her who, or rather what, she had been housing for the past two days. She'd been shocked. They all had. Repulsed even. But they helped me transport the unconscious man to my own private sanctuary. We lay him in the water just off the narrow docks and watched as his pale body sank deep into the darkness. He wouldn't drown. He could never.

I'd adjusted the wards around the area, ensuring my new guest could not move past the invisible boundaries and that no one other than myself, Mahalia, and her coven could enter. Safety measures.

They all went home after a few hours but I stayed. I lay on my belly on the docks, one arm dangling over the edge and lightly caressing the water. He'd neared the surface once or twice, never breaking it, just watching me as I watched him.

When the sun rose the next day that is where Mahalia found me as she returned. She looked determined as she approached me like she was harbouring bad news but was adamant to deliver them.

"We've talked," she said, pulling her jacket tighter around herself even though it was not cold. "And the coven has decided – I've decided – that he must be killed."

I turned my head to look at her, almost lazily. "Have you, now?"

"He's a monster," she said, a shiver running through her. "A murderer."

I turned back to the water, smiling at my reflection. "We're all murderers here." The covens of New Orleans were infamous for sacrificing their own, after all. Sacrificing children to appease the ancestors. To have their sacred earth run red with the blood of the innocent.

Mahalia didn't argue that, but she did look a tad uncomfortable. "Ms. Mikaelson–"

"Freya," I corrected her automatically.

"–From what you've told me he is dangerous. Dangerous and unpredictable, and will most likely prey on the residents of New Orleans if given the chance. I have a responsibility to the people here."

I pushed myself up to sit, my body groaning in mingled protest and relief at finally moving after so long. I probably had indentations of planks on my stomach and thighs. I planted the soles of my feet on the ground beneath me and casually rested my arms on my knees, looking up at the other woman. "Your people?"

Mahalia nodded after a moment's hesitation, her glorious curls bouncing. "Yes...My people."

"You were born here, right?"

"Yes, I was born here. My children were born here. My parents and grandparents were born here."

"Then you don't know," I said matter-of-factly.

"Don't know what?"

"What it's like to be so far from home. Your ancestors, the ones you pray and sacrifice to, they knew. They knew the pain and loneliness."

She frowned, not understanding. "What has this got to do with anythin'?"

"I can never go home." I directed my gaze back at the water. Water was always comforting. But even that was different than what I longed for. I wanted the sea. Salt on my skin. "Not really. It's not there anymore."

Mahalia sighed. She was growing impatient. I think if I had not been of the Mikaelson name, she would have ignored the path I had taken and pushed us right back to the final destination. But even though we were not liked, a certain amount of respect came with the name. At the very least, fear.

"Pretty sure Europe is still there, Ms. Mikaelson," she said, her voice carrying a sharper edge than before.

"Freya," I repeated mindlessly. "And I'm not talking about the continent or the countries. I'm talking about my home. What once was, is no longer. Where there were trees, there are now cities. Grey and filthy. Concrete. Cars spitting smoke. Animals locked up in cold buildings instead of roaming free. And the churches..." My own voice grew hard, dripping with venom. "Those fucking churches...His cross planted into the earth, desecrating the soil of my ancestors, of the Gods who came before. His children everywhere."

I inhaled deeply, trying to shake the anger that had so suddenly arisen. "I once belonged but now am the odd one out. The misfit. And it's like that wherever I go. I don't belong. I am a mere visitor with no real claim to this world. This is not my time."

Mahalia seemed to soften, just a touch. She lowered to her haunches beside me but made sure to stay away from the edge of the pier. She didn't trust the creature that dwelled in the water. The man she had begged me to protect. "Your point bein'?"

"Him." I pointed to where I had last seen him, a small smile making my lips curve. "The Christians thought he was theirs, you know? That he was their monster. Their nightmare. But that's not true. He came before. He would haunt the dark waters when their religion was not yet born. An Old One. Like me, his world has been destroyed, morphed into something unrecognizable, something that threatens to destroy him completely. Something that will."

We were both quiet for a long moment before Mahalia finally spoke again, her previous annoyance giving way to confusion and, perhaps, hope. "You're sayin' he's going to die?"

"Yes." I was certain of it.

"Because people no longer believe he exists?"

I'd tried to describe the workings of mythology, of the gods themselves, but Mahalia, like most others, seemed to have a hard time catching on. I didn't blame her.

"They don't even know his name."

"You do?" she asked, suddenly intrigued. "What is his name?"

I put a finger to my lips, that universal sign for 'don't speak, don't make a sound'. "Some names are not to be spoken lightly."

Annoyance was back in her tone of voice. "But he _will_ die?" She needed assurance.

"Yes," I said simply. "Could be tomorrow. Could be a decade from now. Could be longer. But he is fading. And I will not rush his end. One of the last links to who I used to be...He will be given respect."

She stared at me for a long time, her jaw clenched, eyes hard. She was angry. Scared. Exasperated. I could read all that easily. But I couldn't tell what was going on in her head. Whether she would come to accept my wishes or if she was going to smack me. In the end, she huffed a sigh, turned on her heels and stormed away, disappearing down the length of the docks and into the treeline until I could no longer see her.  
I turned my gaze back to the water.

\---

He appeared to me a few more times that day as if he had heard our conversation and now put his trust in me. Our fingertips touched for the briefest of moments. His were cold and wet, slippery. Mine warm and dry. Our touch ignited the most beautiful music in my mind, an exquisite cacophony of fierce shaman drums and sorrowful violins that made me feel high, this world dispersing and temporarily granting me access to another. A world that was familiar with its warming summer sun, the blooming trees, an ocean of dandelions, yellow as far as the eye could see. I smelled the salt of the sea, felt the sand between my bare toes, and tasted the freshly baked bread my mother would make me as a child.

"Ms Mikaelson!"

I looked up to see Mahalia again. It took me a moment to register that she was real. She was wearing different clothing than when we last saw one another, and she had her two sons in tow. She was carrying a closed wicker basket on one arm, a thermos in the other. She was watching me with evident concern. "Are you alright?"

I sat up, testing my limbs, my muscles. "Yes," I decided. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't look it," she said, handing the thermos to the boy on her left. I thought his name was Daniel. Mahalia reached out to me with her free hand and pulled me to my feet, making sure I was steady before she released me.  
"Brought you some supplies," she said, offering me the basket. "I know you're not eatin'. You need to if you want to keep watchin' over him." She was right. I hadn't eaten. Hadn't eaten in...What day was this? Didn't matter. I'd make sure I ate something now, grateful for the witch's Southern hospitality. Whatever she had packed in that basket smelled good.

"Thank you," I said genuinely and slowly made my way towards the open door to the cottage. I reached out to push my hair away from my face because something was annoying my left eye and I thought it might have been a stray strand. But it didn't help. And then discomfort turned deeper...to pain...a piercing pain behind my eyes that spread. A fucking aneurysm.

I dropped the basket and clutched my head, groaning while attempting to see through the pain, to put the puzzle pieces together. I'd completely forgotten Mahalia and her boys until I watched the basket spill open. Beneath the Tupperware containers of food was a small bag made of cloth, wrapped with a slim lock of golden hair. My hair.

I snatched the bag off the ground and held it up, turning on the other witches with a feral snarl one wouldn't think belonged to someone human.

"A curse?" I asked, squeezing the bag in my closed fist, my sudden anger burning so brightly the fabric caught fire and incinerated within my grasp. The pain ebbed away. My anger did not. "You think to curse me?" I roared. _"Me!?"_ How fucking presumptuous! How foolish! How...unkind.

Mahalia and her sons were watching with wide eyes. They were scared. They hadn't thought I would catch on so quickly. They hadn't counted on this.

"Daniel! Andre! Now!" Mahalia called, and the three of them grasped each other's hands, chanting words I did not understand. I did not have to be fluent in French to know what they were trying to do, however. Always a plan B, right?

But they worked too slowly. Others always work too slowly. And I did not have to speak my intentions out loud for them to come to fruition. My ravens descended on them with a screech of fury, Huginn diving for Daniel's right eye, entering him beak-first and exploding out of the back of his skull like a feathery bullet.

Muninn had already dug his talons into Andre's scalp, ripping and tearing, blood streaming down the boy's face as he tried feebly to swat the raven away. He didn't succeed and soon collapsed to his knees, then his front, twitching and groaning as life slowly drained from him with each drop of blood that fell through the cracks of the docks.

Mahalia screamed as she watched her sons go down. It brought me a sick kind of satisfaction, even if my need for vengeance had not yet been sated. It made me wet.

I reached for her, strength fueled by my magic as I took her by the throat and raised her off her feet. She choked in my grasp, eyes wide, pleading.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you do this?"

She struggled to speak and I released the pressure on her windpipe just enough to allow her to do so. "You were protectin' him." She was crying. "You were protectin' that monster. You _always_ protect the monsters."

I knew she wasn't merely speaking of the water-dweller now. She was talking about my family. I pulled her closer until we were almost nose to nose, she shaking with fear, me with anger, and hissed. "I am the monster."

Then I threw her. Off the docks and into the water. She resurfaced before long, gasping for air, keeping herself afloat with her arms and legs, looking for a spot where she could manage to climb back onto land.

He came for her before she could move, wrapping himself around her as though hugging her from behind, pulling her screaming and kicking down into the depths of the dark water. She was his now.

I sat down, wiping blood off my face the best I could, and found that my anger had faded the moment He took her. There was only sadness now and a sense of betrayal. So tired of having to fight...everyone.

The day went on and when the sun finally set, He returned, his eyes barely above the waterline, like an alligator lying in wait. We watched each other in silence for a long while, briefly touched fingers, that warm promise of home filling me once again. I grasped his wrist and his long fingers locked around mine. Slowly, he pulled me off the docks and into the water.


	4. Chapter 4

We came out of the water to a valley illuminated by the bright sun, shining down on us between the tall mountains that guarded this sanctuary like rocky giants. The grass beneath my bare feet was at its greenest, speckled with colourful wildflowers as far as the eye could see; yellow dandelions, white daisies, pink and purple foxgloves. Butterflies flittered peacefully from flower to flower and up above I could hear the familiar call of seagulls. The sound so dear to my heart it almost hurt. This was the Norwegian summers I had grown up with. This was what I had longed for ever since that cold winter night I escaped Dahlia's clutches. Six-hundred-and-five. It had been six-hundred-and-five years.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, breathing that clear, salty air of the sea. My toes curled in the warm grass, feeling the earth pulse beneath me with life, with secrets of the creatures that lived below. A cool breeze blew in from the north, gently soothing the heat of the sun, my long blonde hair lifting to join in the dance of the elements. I found myself to be smiling. And crying.

A squeal somewhere to my right broke the spell and I looked down the field of flowers. There were people there. Children. A few men and women. They were dancing and playing. Laughing as they chased one another through the tall grass. They wore wreaths of wild roses on their heads. Crowns. Each one a prince and princess. Loved and cherished. I could feel it.

Someone took my hand. It was Him. He looked much more beautiful here than he had in my world. Almost ethereal, glowing skin and bright eyes. Because this was where he belonged.  
"Come," he said. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak. His voice was pleasant, melodic.

I squeezed his hand gently and let him pull me towards the others. They were excited to see him. Beaming, in fact. But no one broke away from their games and fun.

"You'll stay," he said. "You'll belong."

I already felt like I did. And I was certain if I was truly alone with no one to care for, I would have stayed. Without a doubt. But there were complications. "I wish," I breathed softly.

His hand tightened slightly around mine. "No wishing. Only truth. You'll stay. You'll belong. You'll be happy."

My lips curved in another smile, but this time it was wistful. "I can't. I have...people." People who were counting on me to be there. People who _wanted_ me to be there.

"They don't matter," he whispered. "The people here matter."

I looked around at the laughing children, at the blissful expressions on the faces of the adults that watched them. "They're dead," I said matter-of-factly.

"Only in body," he countered calmly.

Yes, I thought. Because the souls here did not have living bodies to return to after He had killed them. But I did. I always woke up.

"I'll have to go back." It didn't really matter if I wanted to or not. As long as my life was bound to Niklaus' life-force, I could never truly die.

He didn't seem surprised by this revelation. He pulled me in and hugged me close, almost like he had done in the water, his chin resting atop my head, whispering soothingly. "Only for a moment. It will only hurt for a moment. Then you'll be back." He knew what I was. It didn't seem to matter. He was willing to have me drown over and over in order to keep me here.

"No. I will have to go." I wouldn't let myself fade away, be taken away from my family, my loves, because I was homesick. That was the actions of a coward. And I'd not thought myself a coward for many centuries.

I felt an outside force now, tugging on me, trying to pull me away. The light dimmed slightly and my vision blurred. Breathing was getting troublesome.

_Here it comes,_ I thought. _I'm waking up._

"No!" He hissed, his eyes blazing with an anger I had not seen there before. He was clutching me tighter, painfully. "You will come back! You will! You're mine! They said I could have you!"

As my consciousness wavered between this beautiful world and reality, I turned my head sharply to stare at him, one word, in particular, echoing in my mind. They. Who the fuck were _they_?

The beautiful scene fell away and I was plunged back into ice-cold darkness. At the bottom of the lake, His arms still wound around me like a vice, my body instinctively fighting to free itself. My lungs were burning with the need to breathe and my head throbbed so painfully I thought I was going to pass out again.

"Come back!" His voice was in my head now, desperate and angry and scared all at once. "Come back with me!"

No. I wouldn't. Couldn't. But his hold on me was too tight to wriggle loose of. Instinct took over, my magic lashing out in the only way it knew how as I opened my mouth to scream. The sound that erupted from me was not what one would expect from someone submerged in water. It was clear and loud, bursting forth like a bullet.

"NØKKEN!"

His name. Legend said he couldn't stand the sound of his own name. It weakened him. Hurt him. The legend was right. He shrieked in pain and thrust me away, clawing at his own skin, his neck and face. I pushed against the ground beneath me and swam towards the surface as quickly as I was able, gasping for air once I made it, clutching the wood of the docks and pulling myself out of the water.

I lay there for what seemed like an eternity, throwing up water, convulsing, trying to steady my breath that continued to enter and leave me in gasps.

When I eventually had my wits about me once more, I turned my head to watch the water. He was there, bobbing on the surface like a floating corpse. He wasn't moving, but I knew he was far from dead. It was just the shock of what had happened. The pain of it.

"Ylva," I rasped, silvery-white orbs of light silently erupting from my chest and morphing into that of my familiar. My wolf. "Fetch."

She did, and without hesitation, treading the surface of the water like Christ himself and captured Nøkken's leg between her powerful jaws. She pulled him out and onto the docks, following behind me with him still prisoner as I managed to stagger into the cabin.

\---

We'd managed to haul him onto the sturdy kitchen table and I had bound him with every restraint I had in my arsenal. He was still unconscious, so there was no hurry for me to act. I dried off and changed my clothing, putting kindling in the woodburning oven and setting it alight, getting the kitchen nice and toasty. Which seemed a stupid move considering the temperature outside was in the high eighties. But I had my reasons. I always have reasons.

When he finally came to, it was clear he was still weak. I didn't mind that.  
He hissed and growled, tugging and testing his restraints. They would not yield.

"I don't do well in the heat," I said, looking down at him on the table. "I prefer a colder climate. And right now I'm struggling." I was sweating profusely. My shirt, which had been dry when I put it on, was damp and stuck to my body uncomfortably. "And since I'm struggling, I can only imagine how painful this must be for _you_."

He was a creature of water, after all. He thrived in the dark and the damp, where moisture clung to every surface. Here...he was drying out.

He scowled up at me, looking almost betrayed. "They said I could have you."

I braced one hand on the table and leaned over him, repeating his words from earlier. "Who are 'they'?"

He grimaced and looked away. I caught him by his chin and forced his gaze back to me. "Names. I want them."

"No names." His voice came to me in my head. His mouth had not moved. I wondered if he was even able to speak words up here.

"Names," I demanded once more. He simply stared at me, as hard and unyielding as the ties that bound him. I turned away and brushed my hair back from my face, wiping sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand before I reached for a knife on the kitchen counter. When I returned to him, I held the knife up for him to see. It was a clear enough warning. I arched a brow in silent question, giving him a chance to spill his secrets. He didn't.

"This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me," I muttered, bringing the blade in between his fingers, slicing at the webbed skin there, the very reason he could swim at a great speed. He screamed. It wasn't a human scream. It was darker, wilder. I didn't enjoy it. I had been so caught up in my daydreams of the connection he could provide me, the bond two homesick creatures could forge, that it almost pained me a little to bring him harm now. Almost.

I repeated my question. I repeated it every time before I sliced into him again. But despite the shrieks and obvious pain, he never wavered. In the end, I had cut all of him. The web between his fingers and toes no more.

It didn't matter he had yet to speak. I was patient. And I had time. All the time in the world.  
Of course, he was growing weaker by the minute. The pain, the loss of blood, and the heat were getting to him.

I threw the bloodied knife in the kitchen sink and wiped my hands clean on a towel before I moved through to the parlour. On the bookcase, among the many volumes and texts, there was a small wooden box. I brought it back with me, opening it to peer down at the little iron cross inside, resting on a velvet pillow.

"It belonged to the pagans before Christianity was even born, you know?" I told him, though I wasn't entirely sure he was listening. "It belonged to other gods and goddesses before Jehova. But the people who feared you, the people who avoided lakes and rivers because they were scared you would pull them in, they believed this symbol could hurt you. Because how could a solitary, pitiful creature such as yourself ever compete with the power of the almighty lord?"

I removed the cross from its box, half-expecting it would sear my skin. It didn't. There was still some humanity left in me, I supposed. But Nøkken, he was not and had never been human. I placed the cross on his bare chest and watched as it sizzled, his skin erupting in angry red boils and blisters that spread so quickly it was shocking. He screamed, screamed so loud I thought my ears would bleed. I quickly clamped a hand down over his mouth and demanded furiously: "Names!"

"The Old Ones!" It came quickly, his voice in my head. I released him and plucked the cross off of him, feeling its heat in the palm of my hand.

"The Old Ones?" I parroted.

"The cold. The old. The ones who came before." He was squeezing his eyes shut from the pain, trying to recover while I attempted to piece together his words. It didn't take me long.

"Jötnar."

Frost giants, some called them. Adversaries of the Gods. It had been that way since the Gods themselves were born. The Gods had always managed to keep them at bay. They could not enter Midgard – the world of humans. But there were some, some creatures of jötunn descent that had morphed into something else. Something twisted and even more hateful than their predecessors. Demons.

I had run into one just a year before. Or rather, he had sought me out. I could still remember his words, spoken as his razorblade cut through my skin, tendons, and muscles: “Your Odin is getting weaker. For the past millennia, his followers have abandoned him for new deities. Now is our chance to strike. Finish off the rest and Odin will be no more. A God is nothing without those who believe in Him. He is just an idea conjured by the human mind. Ideas are harder to kill than humans, but they can be killed. Forgotten. You’ve been His for a thousand years, Witch. While others died and faded, betrayed their gods in favour of the new ones, you remained. You prayed, you sacrificed, you believed...You may just be one of Odin’s greatest sources of power. Your destruction will weaken him greatly.”

My fingers closed around the cross in my hand, clutching so hard its edges cut into my palm. "What did they promise you? Why?"

Nøkken seemed to have given up on his silence all together now, too exhausted to fight. "They told me to take you. Take you away. You, who defy death, whose faith is eternal. You believe in me. With you in my world, I could live forever."

And the demons would have succeeded in their mission to eradicate one of the obstacles in their way. I would have been the battery Nøkken could draw from to strengthen himself, to allow him to thrive once more. A slave. Just as I had been for Dahlia.

It didn't hurt me as much as I thought it would have – his betrayal. If I could even call it that. But for the very first time in a long while I was afraid. Because if the demons had managed to reach out to this creature, it meant they were here. Here, on this plane. More had found their way through the cracks in Odin's defences. And that was something to be frightened of, indeed.

"Will you let me go now?" Nøkken sounded in my head, weary and tried. "Will you return me to my waters."

I watched him a long moment and leaned down to softly place a kiss on his forehead, whispering.

"No." I put the cross down where my lips had touched him and stood back, watching the religious symbol burn and sear away his flesh like acid, not even flinching at the bloodcurdling screams.

The demon was right; He was just an idea conjured by the human mind. Ideas are harder to kill than humans, but they can be killed.

Ideas _could_ be killed.


End file.
